Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Monday, December 28, 2009

Slow going reins in along rugged terrainSuggests itself as the answer to the coming rainHalting and hesitant towering crags jutRagged hoping for any new good news afoot

To be denied a blanket in these extremesFloats you more or less agog in loggers' dreamsTo get down from here after watching courage plummetWill take self-belief extracted from the summit

Is getting to the bottom of this really getting me home?Meantime happily asking and out of proportion full blownBlacked out and blanked by a blanket of snowFuels the pith of the myth of that distant glow

Skill sets exploited can be fun to watchChat up a fat cat to meet your matchThrow in your hat across a line on quicksandSettle down to see no one holding your hand

Now crossing over to borderline out of controlEdging ever so close to the edgy and boldHands draw for the demand of spirit and soulAll for your destination's heart of the goal

Her mind was calm but she knew what was coming. She dragged the match across flint and lit a rolled cigarette. She was thin and pretty and had wanted to be a horse woman. She and Custer's daughter had been friends until the Indian Wars started on the prairies up north. There were too many soldiers up there and now all these newspaper writers. Still she wanted to be a horse woman and she couldn't be one living in this dirty camp.

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Saturday, October 31, 2009

Her face showed nothing; the only sign of life was a certain flicker of an eyelash burning inside her heart.She and her boss are in a state of hate in which no one has endured. Inside the office at night is a microcosm where names fill file cabinets, where, window blinds seep with neon, where young girls sit at desks, girls who have seen the endless expanse of farmland, who have given away their childhood and now, thinking adult thoughts, can never go home. Their loneliness on their father's farm has gotten them this far. They are young and beautiful. They are willing to work in the dim light of obscurity, hoping.

Friday, October 30, 2009

The fear is always there, pulsing, and her times of relaxation, whether short or long, always seem temporary.At times, the phobia only takes her to a darker place, for a few hours or days, then nothing. Sometimes it visits her at night and she herself rises to meet it.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

No magic words can bring back my youth, but memory can. You see, time is of the essence, and so is precious life.Mother was the workhorse of the family. Her childhood during the Great Depression was her saddle. These words describing her life are too important to wait any longer.She was born Patricia Jean Kerr, 150 years after the birth of America and 100 years after the death of Thomas Jefferson. She is famous to only one person, me.My thinking has always been influenced by writers, hers by bread lines and soup cups. They say in America a woman can be cast in any role, and yet she herself is driven by her own cast of memories.Some say the Great Depression started in 1920 with the outlaw of drinking alcohol in America and ended in 1941 with the bombing of Pearl Harbor. She says it started December 22, 1926, the day she was born.